


By Endurance We Conquer

by withlightning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s05e10 Abandon All Hope..., M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withlightning/pseuds/withlightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One late afternoon in October, two men stand side by side, learning how to be Winchesters again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Endurance We Conquer

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is coda for 5.10, _Abandon All Hope_. Written because burning that photograph was not cool.  
>  2\. This is for you, Vin.
> 
> 3\. Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/withthunder/1263.html#cutid1), November 27th 2009

Dean's vision is blurring. He tries to shake it off, tries to push it back in, to never let it out but he can't stop it. He feels one lonely tear rolling down his cheek, feels the way it slides lower, leaving wet trail behind as others join it, sliding all the way down to his chin. He makes a futile attempt to wipe the tears off and only succeeds in spreading the moist moisture all over his cheek, making him feel the insecure, devastated little kid he was a life time ago, with no idea what his future would hold, where his choices would take him.

Sam is standing next to him, leaning against the side of the Impala, just like he is. The silent support they have for each other is the only thing that makes Dean lock his knees and prevent them from buckling as his legs are shaking without his consent. He doesn't turn to look at his brother because he knows how Sam looks like, knows how the deep grief is etched into his features; shaggy hair falling over to shadow most of his face, hiding the grim line of his lips and furrowed brows, hiding the clinging eyelashes because Dean is sure Sam is crying - oh so silently but crying nonetheless – the small whimpers forcefully stifled and uneven breathing giving away his efforts. Dean is grateful to have Sam, always has been, no matter how hard it has been between them. It doesn't matter how much betrayal and trust issues they have had in the past or how many stupid mistakes they have made because this is where it all comes together. This is the place where their loyalty is measured and everything that comes second is left behind – those things have no right to be here with them. Today they are one, they are brothers, they are Winchesters and damn it all if they can't be civilized.

Sam takes a deep breath and stands up, lays a hand on the hood of the car, supporting him as he prepares to move. Dean is rooted to the spot and he couldn't move even if his life depended on it. He lifts his head to look at the sky and it feels justified, somehow, to have such a perfect weather for a day like this. It reminds Dean that nothing is ever simple, that there is black and there is white and a whole lot of grey between. The wind is slightly picking up, ruffling the last leaves of late October and Dean's gaze follows one brown leaf, the way it swirls in the wind, catching a small whirl, spinning wildly and finally settling down on the ground, next to where Sam is standing now. Next to Bobby's grave.

  
~*~*~

  
There's smoke everywhere and it's getting harder and harder to breathe with every passing second, Sam keeps on shooting everything he sees moving, the smell of gun powder assaulting his senses and his ears muffled with ringing as the gun gets off loudly, again and again. Dean's frantic eyes take in the scenery and he knows they are so screwed, even with Cas fending them, doing everything in his wilting power to get them enough time to get the hell out of here. Bobby's in the far corner of the room, bleeding from his stomach, the ever-growing dark spot spreading and soaking his flannel shirt as he's loading his shotgun. Dean catches a glimpse of Sam from the corner of his eyes and sees his ammunition is almost gone.

He shouts, "Bobby, get the hell out of there, there's no--"

"Boys, I'm telling you for the very last time, there is no happy ending for me. Now, scram!" Bobby interrupts him, voice booming in the noise and Dean whips his head around, takes in the state Bobby's in and it hits him, hits him hard: this is the end. That it's all here, right now and --

Sam shouts as one of the demons catches his sleeve and starts to do her thing and suddenly the demon is down on the ground, leaving much shaken Sam taking steps into the room, group of demons blocking the entrance, making their way in and one of them has a gun, pointed at Dean, trying to shoot him. It's starting to get really fucking bad, Dean knows.

And then Cas is there, next to him, squinting his eyes murderously at the demon and he flicks his hand, the gun sliding on the other side of the room, the demon screaming in rage as he says, "Dean, we really need to leave. Now."

Dean just stares at Cas, because how is he suppose to leave Bobby behind? Bobby who is so much more than just Bobby, who is the constant thing and no, just no, they are not leaving. "No," he says out loud and turns his head to look at Bobby.

Sam is struggling to breathe, still, and Bobby's sweating and shaking, grimacing with every lift of his hand and there is no fucking way they are leaving, this is all going down now, right here, right now. Dean is about to say so but then he sees Cas and Bobby locking their eyes on each other, sees how Bobby is saying everything there needs to be said with his eyes and Cas gives a short nod, taking hold of Dean's arm, tightly, enough to bruise and reaches forward to grab Sam's arm as well and Dean can very well admit he's panicking because there's only one reason for Cas to get physical and before he can say anything, plead or scream, Bobby is trying to smile at Cas but it comes across like a grimace as he wheezes out, "You take care of them, you hear me, boy?"

Cas tightens his hold even more and says, "I will. I promise."

Bobby jerks his head and lifts his shotgun the last time, determination visible in his movements – and Dean finds himself standing in the middle of a field, Sam and Cas by his side, arm throbbing and he can't fight the bile nor the retching that comes after.

  
~*~*~

  
Sam is murmuring something that is only meant for Bobby, voice low and sad and intimate and Dean focuses on the reddish sky, flecks of yellow shining brightly on the edge of every cloud and it looks magical, warm and beautiful. He feels the cold seeping into his bones, making itself at home there, deep inside him and he shivers.

Two squirrels are racing together up in the tree next to the car, their little feet rustling on the bark and Dean watches as they get higher and higher still, as if reaching up to the sky, without worries, free to go where they want, their fluffy tails getting ruffled by the wind and it reminds him of him and Sam, years ago. When the squirrels reach their destination and jump to another tree he reluctantly swifts his gaze back to Sam. Sam who is crouching in front of the stone, hand sweeping over the unevenly sculpted stone as he keeps talking in quiet voice, gentle and soothing tone making Dean feel uncomfortable. He tries to think about what he wants to say to Bobby, how to word his message to the great man Bobby was. Who he still is, who he'll always be in Dean's eyes. The way he respects Bobby isn't something he can put into words, nor is it something he'd like to voice. Dean knows that Bobby knew, he had to know how much Dean looked up to him, how much he _adored_ him. Besides, what's the point? Bobby is gone and he's not coming back. That is the point.

Sam stands up, shoulders hunched and Dean hears him sniffle and then he's making his way back to Dean's side. Sam looks miserable with his tear-stained face, red blotches decorating his cheeks, eyes red and puffy -- the epitome of how Dean feels inside.

"You, uh, wanna go and say something?" Sam asks with small voice after he has straightened from his slump.

Dean thinks about it the last time, gives it a hard thought but there isn't really anything he has left to say. "Nah," he responds and shivers again when the ever-speeding wind slithers under his jacket.

He keeps staring ahead, looking at the clouds gathering, getting darker and darker together, sun almost gone now, horizontal and it stings his eyes. Sam nods his head once and his bulky frame makes the car jostle enough for Dean to feel his movement vibrating through his body.

"Let's go," Sam says and nudges Dean's shoulder with his own, sounding a bit better, not so feeble.

Dean sighs in relief and stuffs his hand in the pocket of his jeans. He fishes out the car key and says, "Gimme your hand."

Sam looks at him quizzically first and then with dawning realization as Dean releases the key onto his out-stretched palm. He watches as Sam's hand curls around the object, long and nimble fingers gripping tight and steps around him to open the passenger side door, the comforting whiff of leather making him more relaxed. Sam takes long strides as he circles around the hood, opens the door and sits on the driver's seat. Dean is about to step in, too, but in the last minute he turns around and zeroes his gaze on the grave stone. It has black lettering, carved with great taste, making the name and dates blend into the grey plate. The stone looks scruffy and lonely, standing far away from others, proudly, and to Dean it seems like the stone is the key to the universe, the important, the odd one. Not unlike Bobby himself.

Dean smiles crookedly, turns and closes the door after claiming his chosen seat.

They're only few minutes out from the grave yard when Dean is really starting to get enough of the sun even when he knows it'll only take few more minutes for it to set down for good for the day. He reaches forward and opens the glove box, searching for his sun glasses, hand groping for the shape of them and as he finds what he's looking for, something falls down on the foot space. He picks up the paper, except it's not: it's a photo. Of them. Taken at Bobby's the day before everything took a giant step for the worse.

Dean racks his brain, trying to remember how the photo made its way into the glove box. He can't even figure out when it was when he last saw it. Then, he does and he wishes he didn't. He chokes up, swallows the lump in this throat and let's out pained, forced little laugh.

Cas had it the last time. Had it in his warm hand, looking at it with a thoughtful expression before pocketing it, protecting it. Cas. Oh God, _Cas_.

  
~*~*~

  
"What are you saying, Cas?" Dean asks, pissed off and worried about Sam who is being held captive, being persuaded and they're in Detroit. In Detroit, out of all places and the timing – they all know about what happens in Detroit and the whole city is swarming with angels and demons and now Cas wants to stop and _chat_? "You're just going to barge in there and blast away?"

"Don't you see, Dean? This is why I was sent here, this is what I am supposed to do. This is my purpose." Cas' voice is unwavering in its determination.

Dean is getting a bad feeling about this. "Cas, no," he says, trying for finality because seriously, why are they even discussing this? Especially when Sam is in danger, when the future of humanity is at stake and when they've already lost many great women and men in this fight, they've lost Bobby, for God's sakes and Dean isn't going down this road, not again.

Cas ignores him completely and continues, "Dean--"

"No! You don't get to do this! You don't get to sacrifice yourself over this, I'm not going to let you--" Dean raises his own voice, stopping and whirling around to shoot daggers at Cas with his eyes. He's not excluding the thought of using his fists, either. If only it would help to get this utterly stupid idea out of Cas' head.

"Yes. You are." Cas replies, sternly, blue eyes blazing with something Dean has never witnessed before.

Dean stares at Cas with disbelief and spitefully grinds out, "You bastard." He shakes his head slightly, gaze never leaving the intense look Cas is giving him and he feels the anger pushing up, up to his throat, speeding when it reaches his mouth and he hurtfully continues, "You know what Cas? Screw you and the holy spirit you rode in on."

For a moment Cas looks rattled, like he doesn't know what to say, like Dean's reaction somehow surprised him. His blue eyes are big, not so much with confusion, but with comprehension and there's a flicker of a sad smile gracing his lips. "Dean. You don't mean that," he says in a sighing.

"Oh, you better believe I do," he answers belligerently. He's aware that they both know he's lying through his teeth.

"You don't have to be afraid, Dean." Cas says in a rush and to Dean it looks like Cas thinks the time is running out on them.

"I'm not afraid." Dean says as he runs out of steam, stares at Cas with wide eyes that say the opposite, say that he is afraid, so goddamn afraid of how things will go down.

"Go to Sam. Save Sam." Cas whispers as he leans closer, cheek against cheek. They stand like that, unmoving, in each other's spaces and Dean has to strain his hearing as Cas continues, "You were worth it -- you're always worth it." And fucking hell, Dean can't, he just can't. "You," Cas says the last time and kisses Dean right below his ear, on the junction of his jaw and neck, warm lips pressing gently, carefully. The kiss lingers and suddenly he realizes.

He realizes everything, the way they are, the way they've always been, the way they were meant to be and the most important thing, he realizes it's all too late. So fucking late and he can't take any of this anymore –he can't deal, can't anything and he whimpers, "Please."

Cas exhales rapidly and kisses him again, lips touching the same spot and Dean feels Cas' eyelashes caressing his cheek, tickling, and Cas' hand on the side of his face pulling him closer, increasing the pressure of Cas' lips on his neck. "You," he whispers again in the shell of Dean's ear and then – then he isn't there anymore and Dean doesn't want to open his eyes because he knows.

Instead, he clenches his jaw, teeth grinding together painfully and goes for the kill.

  
*

  
They win. Dean doesn't feel victorious, not in the slightest.

  
~*~*~

  
One corner of the photo has been bent and Dean straightens it carefully, gently bending it the other way. He stares at his own frame and it looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than in the picture, most probably somewhere private with Jo, and he laughs at that, at how she turned him down, all grown up and full of attitude, spitting image of her mother's strength. Then there is Ellen, Ellen who was so brave, so dedicated to how she lived, to what she believed in, to whom she loved – strong, beautiful Ellen.

"What is that?" Sam asks, startling him.

Dean keeps his cool and turns his head a bit, looking at the picture from a different angle.

"Dean?" Sam asks again and checks the road is straight before craning his neck and breathes out, "Oh."

He ignores Sam for now, studying the photo intensively. He pays attention to Jo's pale hand resting on Bobby's shoulder, Bobby obviously in thought and if Dean remembers correctly, Ellen said something about that night being possibly their last and that thought stings his chest, sharp and painful. How right she was, as if she _knew_ , somehow and Dean isn't going to think about that, he shuts that train of thought altogether and shifts his eyes to look at Sam. Sam looks worried, one arm wrapped around Dean, the other around Cas, eyebrows furrowed, gaze straight on the camera. Then there is only Cas left, standing proudly, head held high, pride clear in his posture and after a little bit more concentration it comes to Dean. Cas looks like he belongs. He's the odd one out in the picture, sure, but his face tells another story. It tells that he's proud to be there, around Dean's family, being _part_ of the family, important enough to be included in a family portrait and God how Dean wishes he would have seen that before, the need for Cas to just belong, to be important, to be someone – to be _himself_ instead of the otherworldly creature all the time, the messenger, the protector – to be just Cas. It hurts him to realize how blind he can be, especially when it comes to the people he cares for, the people he loves.

The car jolts as Sam makes turn for the left, finally reaching the highway and as Dean lifts his head he sees the ever-darkening sky, only faint lighter blue painting the horizon, blending into the darkness.

He has to squint when he indulges in the photo again, momentarily blinded by the headlights of the oncoming traffic, white spots dancing in his vision. As soon as he regains his sense he instinctively lifts his index finger and it touches the glossy material. Dean traces Cas' face with his fingertip, remembers vividly how haggard and broken the other Cas was and for a moment he feels joy because he's sure Cas would rather choose to go out with a bang than with a whimper, destroyed by _him_ of all people, Dean, whom Cas trusted, implicitly, with all his being. His finger looks enormous, almost as big as Cas' head and he carefully pets Cas' hair, regretting he never touched it when he had Cas by his side, regrets many things when it comes to Cas.

Dean can only hope Cas knew, even if he didn't, himself.

  
*

  
It is much later, after Dean has put the photo in his wallet -- between other important papers he has been holding on to – when he turns to look at Sam. Sam is driving, eyes focused on the dark road and Dean figures it has been raining lightly at some point because the asphalt is glistening in the headlights, making the road sparkle as it whizzes under the car. He feels comfortable, warm and at home and that is really more than he thought he'd have after stopping the Apocalypse. He really needs to start paying attention to the little, daily things and he smiles as he starts, "So, I saw this potential case over at Salford…"

They get into the details, slowly, building their enthusiasm and it feels like maybe some things might still be the same, that maybe they will be alright, eventually. Dean has no idea how they end up bickering, but here they are, taking jabs at each other, grinning at each other, loving each other and in no time they are laughing, laughing heartily, booming laugh that hurts in Dean's stomach and they're both gulping air. They try to settle down, act like adults, up until to the point when Sam can't stop a giggle escaping and they just laugh and laugh until they are crying with it, until Dean's vision is blurring. He wipes his eyes and isn't bothered by the dampness on his face.

 _Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears,  
for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth,   
overlying our hard hearts._   
\-- Charles Dickens


End file.
